


i'm the director and you play along (because you want to die for love, you always have)

by voxofthevoid



Series: couldn't get the boy to kill me [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Avenger Bucky Barnes, Barebacking, Begging, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Coming Untouched, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Exhibitionism, Hair-pulling, M/M, Masochism, Modern Bucky Barnes, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Strength Kink, Submission, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 20:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19027423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: For a moment, all Bucky can see is blue and gold, bright enough to hurt but too entrancing to wrench away from. Steve’s a beautiful man, the kind that once drove poets and painters to ecstasy, and he’s wasted on Bucky.“What the fuck are we doing, Barnes?”“Sex, Cap. You just obligingly fucked my brains out.”-It's less a seduction and more a free-falling disaster.





	i'm the director and you play along (because you want to die for love, you always have)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from “Planet of Love” by Richard Siken.

Thirty minutes in and Bucky’s almost vibrating out of his skin.

He wants to blame the company, and yeah, rich fucks salivating at the chance to spend an evening chatting up the so-called Earth’s Mightiest Heroes sure as hell aren’t the sort of people he voluntarily hangs out with, but that’s taking the easy way out. His real problem is the fact that Steve is here.

It’s been almost two months since that thoughtless tryst in the gym, and S.H.I.E.L.D hasn’t let Bucky have much free time in between now and then. Word is that Steve, Natasha, and Clint are also being run ragged, but Bucky keeps being sent on solo missions with zero chance of running into Captain America’s shady heroics. He was thankful for it the first few weeks, glad to avoid any awkwardness or worse, confrontation. But he hasn’t had sex since then either, and as much as Bucky wants to believe that he’s trying to make wise life choices, the truth is uglier.

Steve Rogers is a hard act to follow. Bucky has dreams about those heavy hands and thick, perfect cock.

And now, he’s trapped in an enclosed space with him, and it doesn’t seem to matter that the room is huge and teeming with people. Bucky can’t shake his awareness of Steve, can’t stop shifting around the edges of the crowd to always keep an eye on the towering blond head. Steve is easily one of the biggest people in the room which doesn’t help Bucky’s half-hearted attempts to ignore him.

Steve knows he’s being watched. Well, over half the room is watching him at any given time, not to mention gleefully accosting him. And that should have given Bucky sufficient cover to get away with his own helpless staring, but Steve has managed to catch his eye a few times anyway, frowning at first and then relaxing into a neutral expression that’s far from reassuring.

Bucky’s plan is to spend maybe another hour this way, all the while beating down the devil whispering at his shoulder, before getting the hell out of dodge. He hates this shit, and the only reason he’s here is because Pepper Potts is wily and has Natasha as a terrifying ally, but they both know he hates crowds. He won’t even have to explain the early escape.

He almost manages to believe that he’ll survive the night without doing something stupid when he sees a disgruntled Steve headed his way, dragged along by a visibly tipsy Stark who’s got less sense than a decapitated cockroach once he’s got a few drinks in him.

“Hey, Buckaroo, here, babysit this sad bastard so he doesn’t murder someone here. Civilians and all. Bad publicity.”

Bucky doesn’t even know where to _start_ with that, but Steve just sighs, pinching his forehead with an expression that says he would like to murder Stark, publicity be damned.

“Tony, I’m not going to–”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Captain America’s a pristine angel of virtue who wouldn’t murder nosy fuckers just because they’re nosy fuckers. But you’re miserable, and he’s miserable, so why don’t you two keep each other company. Misery loves that kinda shit.”

Stark blinks, frowning like he can’t really believe he said all that. And then he’s gone, slipping into the crowd and vanishing with an ease that an assassin would envy.

He leaves behind oppressive silence even though the room’s alive with a hundred different voices.

Steve’s the first to speak because he’s brave like that.

“He means well,” he says, and it figures, doesn’t it, that his first thought would be to defend his friend. Bucky assumes that’s what Stark and Steve are now. That sparks something inside – not jealously, but something.

Bucky risks a look at Steve and finds him gazing at the room at large, pointedly turned away from Bucky. Some of them are staring back, curious and covetous, but they’re quick to avert their eyes when they find Bucky glaring. None of them dare come closer. He imagines that’s why Stark actually dumped Steve on him.

Good intentions. 

Steve looks good. He’s in a suit, black and white. Simple and classic. Makes Bucky’s gut twist in on itself, wanting. His hair’s combed neatly, held rigidly in place by some kind of product. Bucky wants to run his hands through it, pull and tug, mess it up, but he wants even more to feel Steve’s fingers clenching in his own wild mane, moving Bucky to his will.  

Steve must feel him looking, but he doesn’t react, just stares out at the crowd with slightly downturned lips. There’s tension in his hulking frame, and Bucky knows it’s fucked up, the way he wants to wind him up until he snaps.

He should have stayed at home. He should leave. _Now_.

“Pristine angel of virtue,” he murmurs instead, not taking his eyes off Steve. “Wonder what Stark would say if he knew that you like to make grown men beg on their knees.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath and finally, Steve turns to him, blue eyes blazing and incredulous.

Bucky smiles sweetly and licks his lips, a little thrill passing through him when he sees Steve’s gaze drop to his mouth.

“You want to have this conversation now, Barnes?”

“It’s not a conversation I want, Cap.”

Steve’s lips thin, in warning or promise Bucky doesn’t know. He has pretty lips, pink and full, and Bucky wants to kiss him even when he knows what a phenomenally bad idea that will be.

He doesn’t like the way Steve makes him want to break so many of his own rules, but he can’t stop himself either. It’s a unique sort of helplessness, as terrifying as it is thrilling.

“Stop messing around,” Steve says after a too-long pause, jaw clenched hard enough that Bucky can feel his own ache in sympathy. The little show of irritation doesn’t distract from the sweat beading on his upper lip or the furtive once-over he gives Bucky.

“Why would you think I’m messing around? You’ve seen how serious I am.”

Bucky stretches, making a show of it, and he knows he looks good, in a dark grey suit tailored to flatter, but the sudden flash of heat in Steve’s eyes is a thousand times more satisfying than his polished reflection staring back at him.

“Barnes,” Steve says, and he sounds pained this time, voice gone low and guttural.

Bucky shuffles closer, using his body to hide how his hand slides up the back of Steve’s thighs to cup his ass, giving it a good squeeze.

“ _Barnes_ ,” comes the hissed warning, but when Bucky withdraws his hand, Steve doesn’t move away.

“You wanna get out of here, sir?” Bucky asks, grinning and looking up at Steve through his lashes. The _sir_ is a low blow, but boy, it hits true, and Bucky barely gets a glimpse of blown pupils and pink cheeks before Steve whips around and strides away.

There’s a moment of suspense where Bucky just watches, unsure whether that’s a dismissal, but then Steve ducks through one of the doors that lead to the housing wing of Stark’s mansion, and well, Bucky can take a hint. He waits a minute before following, looking covertly around the room. From his vantage point, the only Avengers he can see are Natasha and Tony, both of whom are occupied with a small crowd of their own. It’s easy to slip away without attracting attention – Bucky works as a covert operative for high-ranked S.H.I.E.L.D missions despite having a conspicuous metal limb. He can handle a crowd.

The sudden silence is bliss. Finding Steve is simple enough, the door to one of the room left cracked open. Bucky takes a moment to prepare himself, regulating his breathing so as not to give away the hammering of his heart. He’s not scared, far from it, but anticipation feels breathtakingly similar to dread; sweating palms and a racing pulse.

He straightens his suit, runs a hand through his perpetually tousled hair, and steps into the room–

The door slams shut with Bucky’s back pressed flat to it, the impact jarring his bones. Steve’s got an iron grip on his shoulders, and he’s looming over Bucky, larger than life.

“Jesus,” he breathes, cock perking up like the perverted piece of shit it is. Steve’s not helping, crowding Bucky like this, the heat and bulk of his body intoxicating.

Steve’s mouth is twisted into a frown and his eyes are sharp enough to cut. He doesn’t miss the signs, and Bucky’s arousal only climbs when Steve’s gaze flicks to his parted lips and the tent in his pants.

The hand pinning his flesh shoulder creeps to his throat, the heel of Steve’s palm pressing dangerously against Bucky’s pounding pulse. It tightens, not enough to choke and barely enough to constrict breathing, but the mere gentle weight of it has Bucky arching, helplessly rubbing his body against the one bracketing it.

“Fucking hell, Barnes,” Steve breathes, sounding a little wrecked himself. “How fuckin’ desperate are you? You need it that bad?”

Bucky _whines_ , undone in a second by Steve talking dirty to him. He bucks his hips, rocking against one of Steve’s thick thighs. He could get off like this, easy, but he wants more, so much more.

Steve just tightens his grip on Bucky’s throat and shakes him like a disobedient puppy.

“Answer me.”

Jesus fucking _Christ_.

“Yes,” Bucky gasps out, throat convulsing as he struggles to get in air. “ _Yes_ , I need it bad, fuck, sir, please.”

Steve manages to look startled, like he didn’t expect Bucky to just obey, and maybe Bucky would be embarrassed by it with someone else, but he’s spent too many nights writhing in his bed thinking of Steve Rogers fucking his brains out to even bother with shame. He needs this, god, he does.

Bucky pushes Steve’s chest, gently, more a suggestion of force than anything else, but Steve backs off easy, concern flashing on his face, but Bucky just drops to his knees, wasting not even a second before his hands are making quick work of Steve’s pants. He hears a few stitches pop when he pulls a bit too hard with his metal arm and mumbles an apology that he doesn’t mean, hurrying to get to Steve’s cock.

It’s already half-hard, flushed a mouth-watering pink, and Bucky feels as desperate as Steve accused him of being when he leans in to get it in his mouth.

A hand grips his hair, winding painfully into the strands and mercilessly yanking him up. He yelps, stumbling upright, and is roughly pushed away from Steve. It’s not rejection, that much is immediately obvious, and Bucky’s frozen in spot, watching Steve step out of his pants and underwear with little grace and a hungry expression.

He backs up when Steve advances, half an unwitting tease but half pure instinct, something primal inside cowering at the feral look in Steve’s eyes and the controlled power in his body. He’s not fast enough to keep out of reach, doesn’t really want to either, moaning aloud when Steve grabs him and slams him into the wall, hoisting Bucky up in the same movement. Bucky clings, legs around Steve’s hips and arms on his shoulder, breathless with it. Bucky’s heavy, but Steve doesn’t even seem to feel the strain, _god_.

His mind is addled, thoughts jumbled by lust, but Bucky has enough sense to turn his head away when Steve leans in for a kiss.

It would be good; Steve’s probably a biter, the kind that’ll have Bucky whining around the copper tang on his tongue, but he can’t. He won’t.

“No kissing,” he says, voice hoarse and barely more than a breath, but Steve hears and stop, lips brushing Bucky’s jaw. There’s a huff of air, derision or acceptance, Bucky can’t tell and doesn’t get time to care before teeth are sinking down on his throat.

He shouts, squirming in Steve’s arms. They don’t even tremble, and the sting on his neck is replaced by burning suction.

Another follows, then another and another, sharp teeth and wet mouth, and by the time Steve’s had his fill, Bucky’s a gasping wreck wearing a necklace of bruises.

Steve puts him down without warning, prying Bucky’s legs off him. Bucky’s knees give out, and it’s only the grip he has on Steve’s shoulders that keep him on his feet. There are hands tearing at his waist, stripping him from waist-down with little care. His pants survive, but the briefs underneath are torn off, ending up a scrap of black fabric that looks hilariously tiny in Steve’s huge hands. His dick’s sure happy about it, wet at the tip and dripping on Steve’s hand when he palms the head.

Bucky arches into it, hitching up a leg like he wants to climb back on Steve. He’s obligingly lifted up, Steve’s hands hot on his ass, big enough to span every inch of it. He expects Steve to carry him to bed, but he’s unceremoniously dumped on a dresser, one Bucky didn’t even notice because he was too busy humping Steve’s leg. It’s the perfect height but the wood creaks alarmingly under Bucky’s weight. Steve doesn’t seem to give a fuck, stepping between Bucky’s legs and spreading them wide.

“Lube,” Bucky manages to croak, flapping a hand at his crumpled pants.

Steve gives him a Look, well-deserved, but Bucky just smirks like he’s the kind of guy who carries lube around with him on a regular basis. Thing is – he knew Steve would be here at the fundraiser, and for all that he told himself that the good captain had nothing to do with why he let Potts convince him to attend, it was hard to hold onto denial when he pocketed a couple of things at the last moment.

“I like to be prepared, Cap,” he says, bracing himself on the dresser and spreading his legs. It’s fucking obscene, and Bucky feels drunk on it when Steve’s eyes linger on the view.

“That’s one word for it,” Steve finally says, meeting Bucky’s gaze. There’s a smirk on his lips, lopsided and unpleasant, which suggest without sound many other words that would fit. Humiliation burns a hole on Bucky’s gut, face flushing and cock twitching in reaction. Steve doesn’t miss it, and his mouth parts on a heavy breath as he runs his eyes the half-naked mess Bucky makes.

“Strip.”

Time still for a second as the command hits, and then Bucky’s hurrying to obey, yanking at his jacket and shirt with uncoordinated limbs. Steve’s peeling clothes off his torso opposite him, baring every inch of his perfect body, and that does jackshit to improve Bucky’s focus. A few buttons snap off and fall to the floor, but he finally gets the whole thing off.

It occurs a second later that this is their first time seeing each other naked. Last time, it was a hurried fuck, Bucky on his knees with a cock in his mouth and then clinging to Steve as he was jerked off. It’s different this time, and Steve’s not shy about taking his time to drink in every inch of Bucky. He looks good, Bucky’s confident about it; there are scars all over him, the worst of them on his shoulder, but Steve’s a soldier and for all that his flesh is unmarred from the serum’s regenerative capacity, he’s unlikely to be disgusted by Bucky. And if he is, well. Fuck him.

But Steve just looks, and he’s hungry from the dark of his eyes to the clench of his fist. Something about the scrutiny makes Bucky want to both curl away and show off at the same time.

Finally, Steve raises his eyes to Bucky’s and god, they _burn_.

He tosses the lube at Bucky, and he catches it on instinct, staring blankly down the little tube.

“I want to watch,” Steve tells him. The words take a moment to sink in, but then they do, and Bucky moans, a pitiful little sound.

He squirts a little lube on his fingers, the metal ones because his whole flesh feels weak and shaky like he’ll fly apart the seams at one touch. Steve just fucking stands there, hands folded across his chest and dick heavy between his legs. He’s eyeing Bucky intently, following every damned movement, and Bucky’s cheeks feel scorching by the time he’s got two fingers rubbing at his hole.

He’s not gentle with himself, never is, never wants anyone else to be either, and his fingers slide in with a harsh burn that’s offset by the chill of metal. It’s familiar save for the weight of Steve’s gaze. Bucky wants to look at him, a challenge answered with the proud tilt of his chin, but all he can do is turn his face away and screw his eyes shut as he fucks himself open on his own fingers. He adds a third, too soon and too rough, and it pulls a groan out of him, aching and needy. There’s an answering sound from Steve, but Bucky can’t bring himself to look at his face. His cock is answer enough, flushed and painfully hard as it juts out. Bucky lingers longingly on the thatch of dark blond hair at the base, swallowing hard as he remembers how it felt to have his nose buried in them.

He wants Steve to take him by the neck and keep him there, mouth full of cock and choking on it, uncaring whether Bucky liked it or not.

His moan is louder this time, throaty and wanton, and it’s not intentional but it gets Steve moving anyway, slotting his body between Bucky’s spread legs and bracing his arms on either side of him.

“Look at me,” he says, and Bucky does, can’t help himself, and fuck, he could drown in those eyes.

“Sweet Jesus,” Steve breathes at whatever he sees on Bucky’s face, and then his hand is grabbing Bucky’s left wrist and pulling his fingers out of him, none too gently. He whimpers at the sting and the sudden emptiness, but it turns into a gasp when Steve pushes in with two of his own, dry but easily sliding in halfway because Bucky’s already slick. There’s friction though, rough and perfect, and Bucky tries to move his hips, take them in deeper, but Steve just pulls out, tugging cruelly at the rim as he does.

Bucky whimpers, eyes rolling back, and swears under his breath when the lube is taken from his hand. There are slick sounds, and Bucky opens his eyes to watch Steve slick up his cock. It’s fucking huge; Bucky’s held it in his hands and had it in his mouth, but that doesn’t make it any less intimidating. His ass clenches, aching with phantom pain.

“Pants. Condoms,” Bucky tells him, not bothering to look up from Steve’s cock and meet his eyes. At least, not until Steve nudges his chin with a knuckle, tilting Bucky’s face up. It’s hard to look into those eyes, but damn if Bucky can look away once he’s caught.

Steve’s a dangerous man, probably always has been, but it’s almost sobering to realize it’s true in more ways than the obvious.

Whatever clarity Bucky gains for that half-second is lost when Steve digs his thumb and forefinger into his cheeks, forcing his head back.

“ _Listen_ , Barnes.”

“Listening,” Bucky gasps, unconvincing with his breath trapped in his throat, but it seems to be enough for Steve.

“I can’t catch anything. No transmittable diseases.” There’s a ghost of a smile then, a crooked one that goes right to Bucky’s dick. “And you seem the type to like it dripping out of you.”

“Oh _god_.”

His cock’s a wet mess, and it’s a wonder that he doesn’t come right there, from nothing but Steve’s words.

“Barnes.”

“ _Yes_ , yes, you can–”

“Ssh. That’s enough.”

Bucky shuts the fuck up, grateful for it when he slumps on the dresser, spread out like an offering. He expects Steve to take him like that, but what he gets is a strong arm wrapping around his torso and gathering him up, Steve’s other arm coming up to grab Bucky’s leg and hitch it over his waist. He takes the hint, wrapping legs and arms around Steve’s body as he’s lifted right off the dresser.

The wall is cold and hard against his back, a sharp counterpoint to the scalding heat of Steve’s body. Bucky barely has a moment to bask in the corded muscles holding him up with little effort before he feels the blunt tip of Steve’s cock at his entrance.

It feels huge even when rubbing teasingly at his hole, slick and hot. Bucky tries to bear down, but he’s helpless in Steve’s arms, utterly out of control. All he can do is take what Steve gives him when he gives it, and the thought alone has him stifling a groan. Steve seems satisfied when Bucky gives in, finally pushing inside. There’s resistance at first, Bucky’s rim twitching as it struggles to open up for the sheer damn girth of it. Steve’s gentle about it, not fucking into Bucky like he wants to break him, but the slow, inexorable way he presses in is no less maddening in how it forces Bucky to feel every scorching inch of the cock fucking him open.

He doesn’t even hear the sounds he’s making until Steve’s whispering comfort in his ear, pretty words mixed with filth, _you’re tight, oh christ, hush, doll, it’s okay, you’re taking it, look how well you’re taking it, so fucking hot, god, you’re hungry for it, aren’t you?_

Bucky’s not made to survive Steve Rogers spewing filth with the same mouth that talks so proudly of duty and sacrifice, no one is, and he’s panting for it in a matter of seconds, fingers carving red lines on Steve’s back in a futile attempt to clutch at sanity.

Steve pauses, and Bucky thinks he’s bottomed out. He feels full, stretched to his limits, but then Steve’s holding him tighter and snapping his hips and _jesus fucking christ_ –

Bucky screams, scoring his nails down Steve’s skin and throwing his head back. The sound breaks into a sob that shudders down his whole damn body, making him squirm around the cock that’s splitting him in two. He clutches his stomach with one trembling hand, fingers digging into the flesh, and is almost surprised when he can’t feel the outline of Steve’s cock under his skin. It feels like he should, feels like he should have it in his fucking throat with how deep it’s buried.

Steve’s talking again, voice low and soothing in Bucky’s ear, drenched in concern, but he doesn’t _want_ that; he wants blood on his skin and tears in his flesh, wants Steve to take him apart and leave him ruined forever.

“Fuck me,” Bucky spits out, tasting blood from where he’s chewed his lips raw.

Steve falls quiet, his breathing loud in Bucky’s ear. He wants to look, but he doesn’t think he can take the sight of him alongside the sensation of being split open on his cock. Bucky’s only human, might actually die from the shock of it, but fuck, would be a hell of a way to go.

“Alright,” Steve says, deceptively soft. His hands shift a little, getting a better grip of Bucky’s ass, spreading his cheeks and making him burn at how much he’s stretched around Steve’s cock.

Feels like he’ll be left gaping, fucked open and forever used.

He whines a little, clenching around Steve, and it turns into a high-pitched keen when Steve grips him tight and lifts him right up, his cock dragging relentlessly along Bucky’s insides as it slides out of him. He doesn’t pull all the way out; the head remains inside, nestled snugly past the aching rim. Bucky can’t help clenching on it, trying to take it deeper and push it out at the same time. He feels helpless, clinging to Steve with clawed fingers and struggling to breathe through the pleasure-pain wracking his body.

Steve’s teeth nip at Bucky’s ear, tugging playfully at the lobe in stark contrast to his clever, cruel hands. Bucky whimpers for him, turns his face and presses it to Steve in a mockery of a kiss, whining low in his throat. He begs without words, nuzzles Steve like a needy pet, and is rewarded by a rough thrust that tears another scream out of him.

Steve doesn’t stop this time, just keeps fucking, hands and hips working in tandem to take Bucky apart. It was too much from the moment Steve slid in and doesn’t get any better, every thrust a burst of sensations that sink sharp claws into Bucky’s mind, tearing him into pieces. It doesn’t take much for him to go limp in Steve’s hold, surrendering to the hands clutching possessively at him and the cock carving a place for itself inside his body.

His own arousal is a constant thrum, his cock painfully hard between their bodies and his breath escaping as harsh sobs. There are tears on his cheeks, dried and fresh, and Bucky doesn’t remember when he started to cry, only that he can’t stop.

Steve’s still making hushing noises, calling Bucky _doll_ and mouthing sweetly at his neck, but his hands are cruel where they dig into Bucky’s flesh, his cock unforgiving as it drives in deeper and deeper, and Bucky doesn’t know how he found a man so perfect.

Steve grunts, shifts his hold, and the angle shifts. It’s shallower like this, doesn’t burrow so deep that Bucky feels it in his throat, but now every stroke slides along his prostate, and it’s heaven and hell all rolled into one.

His scream is weaker this time, petering out into wet, heaving gasps. He’s clutching close at Steve, burrowing into him like that’ll save him from the relentless assault on his body. Bucky hides his face in Steve neck, mouth open against the sweaty skin there, breathing out vague pleas choked by tears. Steve makes soothing noises now and then, never gentling his thrusts, and Bucky’s losing his mind, would up and held tight and desperate to let go.

“Steve,” he manages somehow, a hard-won moment of coherence. “Steve, please, _Steve_.”

“Bucky,” comes the answer, oddly fond. “What is it?”

“I need – gotta come, let me – _please_.”

“Broken record, aren’t you?” Steve asks, and it’s not that there’s no strain in his voice – there is, every syllable thick with lust and something else – but there’s still so much control in it, casually cruel like there’s a part of Steve that’s been set aside just to watch Bucky break apart. “Never thought you’d beg so pretty, but you’ll do a hell of a lot more, won’t you, Bucky, if I ask you to?”

He’s bouncing Bucky on his cock with each word, fucking him deep and rubbing that spot, letting him spiral uncontrollably towards the edge.

“Anything,” he promises, fucked stupid. “Please, just–”

“I’m not gonna touch you, Bucky.” A rough thrust, fingers sinking into one asscheek, sure to bruise. “You can come any time you want, just like this, on my cock. Think you can, doll?”

Bucky whines, gut clenching. Steve just keeps going like he didn’t shred Bucky’s brain with a handful of words, and that’s the best part, the way Steve just takes and takes and _takes_ , the whole hulking mass of him pressed up against Bucky like he wants to swallow him whole.

The permission flips a switch; Bucky doesn’t even realize he was holding himself back until he isn’t doing it any longer, letting himself squirm in Steve’s grip and wail and whimper, clawing at his back and biting his neck, all in some futile attempt to cope with the pleasure coiling painfully in his gut. It’s a new angle that does it, Steve driving deep like before, every single inch of him buried inside Bucky and trying to crawl deeper, fuck him up and leave him aching forever–

He screams Steve’s name, helpless not to, but the first rope of come is accompanied by a thrust that shows no mercy, and Bucky’s mouth shuts with a soft keen, teeth gritted and eyes shut for each pulse that follows. He makes a mess of them both, come smearing thickly on their stomachs and chests. Steve’s smile is a smug little thing, still gentler than his pistoning hips.

He doesn’t speed up, doesn’t slow down, but there’s a new intensity to his movements, a growing desperation, and Bucky just lets it happens, gasping and panting each time his oversensitive body is jostled. He loves it, loves the hurt and the knife-edge of _too much_ , loves how he’ll go home in his rumpled suit and feel every moment of this for days to come.

Steve comes with a groan stifled against Bucky’s neck. Heat floods Bucky’s insides, filling him up alarmingly. It seems to go on forever, fresh spurts of fire drenching his insides. Bucky’s breathless with it, his cock soft but aching anyway. He can’t remember the last time someone came in him, last time he stayed long enough, trusted someone enough to let it happen. It was before S.H.I.E.L.D, before even the army, and he never realized he missed it.

Steve sounded hot when he said that Bucky would like it dripping out of him, but he didn’t know just how right he was, not until now, when Steve pulls out and come trickles down in his wake, sliding along Bucky’s crack. It’s fucking filthy, and he fucking loves it.

He wants to say as much, but his tongue is leaden in his mouth. His body’s no better, limp as a broken doll and slumped against Steve. He’ll fall on his ass if Steve lets him go, but of course he doesn’t, just steps away from the wall with Bucky still nestled in his arms. His steps aren’t steady when he heads to the bed, and he only stops to lay Bucky down on it before collapsing himself. He’s close, warm and spent. All Bucky wants to do is bask in the afterglow and think of nothing, so that’s what he does. He leans into Steve’s heat all the same, moth to a flame but subtle about it.

He doesn’t pass out like he wants to, allowing himself no more than a few minutes of blissful silence. His head is quiet too, still hazy from Steve’s tender mercies.

When his mental faculties finally reassemble themselves, Bucky sighs forlornly. He doesn’t open his eyes, not quite up to facing Steve. He’s still on the bed with Bucky, close enough to touch. They’re a breath away from cuddling, and it’s infuriating, how the thought makes Bucky want to roll away and sidle close at the same time. It doesn’t help that he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, as heavy as a touch.

He can admit to himself that he didn’t expect the evening to go quite like this. Sure, he kept lying to himself almost until the end, but Bucky’s imagined this more times than he can count. The point isn’t that Steve is wilder than his fantasy counterpart – Bucky’s got deprived desires and an imagination to match, and the Steve in his head has done everything from slap Bucky around to take a knife to his chest. What they just did is tame in comparison, but this Steve is real, flesh and blood hot under Bucky’s hands, and there’s a potential in him, dark and brimming, that paints a picture not far from what Bucky conjures up with his own fingers up his ass.

It’s a little terrifying, if only because Bucky’s already telling himself he won’t do it again, will only _imagine_ , with the full knowledge that he’ll break his own promise.

“Barnes,” Steve calls, something in his tone suggesting that he’s well aware that Bucky’s back in his senses. It pulls him out of his head and coaxes his eyes open. For a moment, all he can see is blue and gold, bright enough to hurt but too entrancing to wrench away from. Steve’s a beautiful man, the kind that once drove poets and painters to ecstasy, and he’s wasted on Bucky.

“Captain,” he says, smirking around the title. He’s tempted to call him Steve, but that’s crossing a line. His own, not Steve’s. He doesn’t think Steve will mind. _Captain_ is good, formal and filthy on Bucky’s tongue, with all that it implies.

For a moment, Steve just looks at him, that piercing gaze boring into Bucky like it wants to crawl into his head and tear out all his secrets. Then he blinks, and his eyes are softer which is almost worse.

“What the fuck are we doing, Barnes?”

Bucky’s startled into laughing, though he sobers quickly at the inclusive _we_ Steve used. A straight up accusation would be easier – _What the fuck, Barnes?_ – but of course Steve is implicating himself in this madness. It’s fair, Bucky’s not contesting that. He doesn’t even know why he’s surprised by Captain motherfucking America being fair. It’s probably his past experiences speaking, bewildered and irked at history not repeating itself for a change.

His answer’s colder that it has to be, than he really wants it to be.

“Sex, Cap. You just obligingly fucked my brains out.”

Steve’s browns furrow, a look not too far away from the _son, you disappoint me expression_ frequently directed at Stark and – according to the S.H.I.E.L.D grapevine – several spectacularly stupid STRIKE team dudebros.

It’s giving Bucky ideas, and he has to carefully school his face so as not to look turned on.

“I’m flattered,” Steve says drily. “But you know damn well that’s not what I asked.”

Bucky gets up at that, already cataloguing where each of his clothes have fallen. It’s all tangled up with Steve’s but even so, he estimates he can be dressed and out of here in five minutes max.

But first, Steve.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I had an itch to scratch. And you’re my type.” He shoots Steve a look over his shoulder, coy and teasing because he just can’t help it. “Think I’m yours too.”

Steve smiles, crooked and wry like he knows what Bucky’s doing and is playing into it anyway.

“You are. But this, whatever the hell it is, isn’t my sort of thing.”

“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me. My ass does tell a different tale.”

“Barnes,” Steve sighs, loud in his exasperation, and Bucky doesn’t know why he likes that name in Steve’s mouth so much.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Cap. It is what it is. We fucked. It was fun. We…” Bucky pauses, brain catching up with his mouth before he offers to do it again whenever Steve wants, however he wants. He aches for it already, mind and body thrumming at the very idea, but it’s fucking stupid and he knows it. “We don’t have to do it again, if you don’t want to.”

Steve’s just looking at him, frown more pronounced now, and Bucky can’t help it. He crawls over, sliding his flesh hand over that damn barrel of a chest and leaning over Steve. Their faces are close enough for Bucky’s hair to brush Steve’s skin, dark brown on creamy white.

“Or we can, if you want to.”

Steve answers by cupping Bucky’s face. His hands are fucking huge, spanning Bucky’s face with ease. It makes him feel curiously small, though he isn’t no matter how you spin it. He likes it.

Steve takes his sweet time answering, eyes not wavering from Bucky’s. His thumbs brush Bucky’s cheekbones, at times venturing shyly down to hover at the edges of his mouth. Steve wants to kiss him; Bucky can see it in his eyes. But he doesn’t because Bucky said no, and Steve’s not going to disrespect that.

What do you do, with a man like this?

Keep him.

Leave him, if you’re Bucky Barnes.

“I’m tempted,” Steve admits frankly, and Bucky determinedly keeps smiling, not letting his face fall even though he knows what’s coming. “You’re something else, Barnes, you have no idea. The way you – but no. I can’t. Like I said, this isn’t my kinda thing.”

“Quitter talk, Captain. Could be your thing if you wanted it. You’ve got a knack for it. I’d know.”

Steve huffs a laugh, flicking Bucky’s cheek in gentle admonition. Bucky leans into the touch, hoarding it for later.

“I’m sure. But I don’t. Want it, that is. Spent half my life waiting for the right person, Barnes. Found her once and life had other ideas, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped waiting.”

“Captain America, a romantic. Who knew.”

“Literally everyone, these days.”

Bucky has to give him that so he shrugs, a little sheepish, and pretends that the banter has erased the sting of rejection.

It was a stupid idea anyway. Bucky should be grateful that Steve knows what’s good for him.

He climbs off Steve and off the bed, standing with a bitten-off groan. There’s come on his torso and trickling down his thighs. His abused body’s not too happy with him, but it loves Steve at the same time, shivering and freezing when a warm hand wraps around his forearm. Steve tugs gently, a suggestion more than a demand, and Bucky turns helplessly, caught in an orbit he can’t crawl out of.

“Barnes, I – it’s not that I don’t want you.”

And damn it, he looks so earnest about it, so fucking _sweet_ , that Bucky heart gives a painful thump.

He’s lashing out before he can stop himself, voice calm and casual, the words anything but.

“Aw, c’mon, Cap, you’re not breaking my heart here. It’s just a fuck. It doesn’t even mean anything. Well, not to me.”

Steve’s expression shifts so fast that it gives Bucky whiplash, stricken for a second before a terrible blankness takes over. Bucky’s got a sinking feeling in his chest, heavy with the awareness that he fucked up bad, but there’s nothing he can do or say. Steve lets him go, nodding politely like they just finished a fucking business transaction.

“I understand.”

There’s nothing in his voice, not even anger or irritation, but Bucky would prefer those any day to this strange new _lack_. He turns away hurriedly, grabbing at the clothes on the floor. He pauses after wiping himself hastily with his torn underwear, risking a glance at the bed. Steve’s lying down again, uncaring of the sweat and come on his skin. He’s staring at the ceiling like it holds all the answers in the universe.

Bucky puts on his pants and pretends he grabs Steve’s shirt by mistake. It’s big on him, not comically so but enough that anyone can tell the difference. He’s out the door while still buttoning his jacket, and he doesn’t glance back though he wants to.

He doesn’t return to the gala, exiting out the back, slipping through the shadows with Steve’s come still dripping out of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated!


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